


Artistry

by penny



Category: Eternal Poison, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: come_shots, F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archaya turns to face him. She hefts the bag containing his bloodstained clothes as if she's weighing his worth. "What else do mothers say about the witch from Traviata Forest?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistry

**Author's Note:**

> For Come Shots theme "ghost stories"
> 
> Spoilers for chapter 93 of the FMA manga.

He has no fear. His life, or death, is a matter of destiny, and he has always faced his destiny unflinchingly, carrying on to the best of his ability. The solders at Briggs had come the closest to understanding -- survival of the fittest -- but they had accepted their mantra on faith. They never thought about what it meant, how one lives with it as a philosophy.

The tendrils coil around his wrist, lift his arm. He barely feels it. All his focus is on his stone. He can taste it in the back of his throat, thick and coppery and so much sweeter than blood. And he can sense Pride's stone. The homunculus is, after all, a product of alchemy.

And Kimberly is a skilled alchemist. More than skilled, actually. Fit. Worthy of survival, if that's his destiny.

He makes his stone resonate with Pride's. Focusing is difficult -- he is badly injured, but he can't afford to siphon off any more of his stone's power to tend to his wounds -- but not impossible. He is fit, after all.

He knows his stone intimately, and intimate knowledge of one stone is intimate knowledge of all stones. He visualizes the transmutation he wants. The timing will have to be perfect, a chain reaction that will keep building even after the homunculus regenerates.

There, he has it, and oh, it is a beautiful transmutation! His finest one.

He pushes -- the stones make it so easy! -- and instead of the explosion he expected, something blossoms before him. A...gate? Yes, a gate, and the doors are opening, and if he thought Pride's true form was unfathomable darkness, it was only because he hadn't seen this.

The darkness reaches for him. He doesn't have the energy to fight. He wishes...

Ah, the ripple of his transmutation building to critical mass. So he did succeed. Well, no need for foolish wishes then. He's laughing as the gate closes behind him.

* * *

He's alive. That's a shock, but he doesn't know why. Ah, yes, the battle with Alphonse Elric. The surprise attack from one of his chimeras. Traitor. He smiles. The attack was well timed. Perhaps he should have worked harder to earn the man's loyalty. Ah well. He had never liked depending on other people.

Kimberly opens his eyes. He's been moved? He should be under open sky, but he's in a den? The space feels small. It's too dark to see. He curls his fingers, and they sink into moist dirt, not the pebbly rubble of his battleground. And instead of the scent of blasted rock, the space smells earthy and animalistic. There's another scent he can't identify that makes his stone hum in his veins.

Something rustles to his left. There's the snap of branches and leaves, and that's when Kimberly's eyes adjust. He's not in a den. He's tucked away in some undergrowth. And that noise? That's something approaching him. A predator?

He can't tell if he's still bleeding. He's too weak to do more than dig his fingers deeper into the earth. There's enough organic material for him to work with. If it is a predator, he'll give the beast a surprise.

"Anook! Anook!"

More rustling, and then the branches near his feet part. Kimberly squints in the sudden light. It's...a bear cub? Holding a wooden spear? Clearly, he's hallucinating.

"Ereht si enoemos ereh. Eh si turh! Emoc pleh."

A small tribe of them now. He is definitely hallucinating. Bear cubs do not speak in gibberish to each other. They do not walk on their hind legs. They do not perform basic first-aid on a bleeding man. They do not build litters, presumably to carry the bleeding man...somewhere for medical attention.

He loses consciousness before they place him on the litter.

* * *

When he wakes again, he's in a real bed. More specifically, bound to a real bed. There are cuffs around his wrists and ankles, a strap over his waist, another across chest. Leather from the way everything creaks when he strains against the binding.

Kimberly frowns. Why the binding? Had he attacked the people (bear cubs?) tending to him? He doesn't like not remembering. Performing alchemy is something to savor. Transmutations, especially his transmutations, deserve a rapt audience.

Ah well. Someone will eventually come. He can talk his way out of his bindings then. For now he best take stock of his surroundings. The wound on his neck throbs and keeps him from turning his head too far in either direction. The room he's in is spacious. There are windows to his right, and the drapes aren't fully drawn. From the light, it's predawn or twilight.

Ah, and what was he thinking about someone coming? He can hear footsteps outside the door, voices. "...you for coming. I hope your expertise can clear up our confusion." That one's masculine, the tone cautious.

"This guest of yours better not disappoint me." That one's feminine, the tone low and smoky, and there's a note of power in it that makes his stone sing.

The man laughs. "If he does, I'll make amends by finding something less disappointing." He unlocks the door.

It opens inward. Kimberly's not sure how important that fact will end up being, but if does have to make a quick escape, he won't have to fumble with the door.

"Oh my, you're awake already." The man is tall, thin, and dressed like an aristocrat. His eyes are a brilliant green, and the glint in them reminds Kimberly of Bradley. Whoever this man is -- and it's clear he has social power at least, if not political, too -- he thinks nothing of using people. "I do apologize for your current...confinement. There is some debate if you are actually human."

Kimberly laughs. Or tries to. It comes out as a dry chuckle. "As opposed to?" His voice is hoarse, but at least he can speak. Given the angle of the chimera's attack, he was worried his vocal cords had been severed.

The man ignores his question. "That's why I've summoned an expert."

"Summoned?" The woman strides into the room. Kimberly's attention is immediately drawn to the tattoos covering her shoulders and neck, swirling down her arms. The patterns are naggingly familiar, something he's seen long before. There are also tattoos beneath her eyes, following the curve of the sockets, and that's naggingly familiar, too. He knows this woman, or maybe he just knows of her.

The man laughs. "An expert gracious enough to indulge me." His voice drops, and it's not as commanding as Bradley's, but he does have the same threatening undertone as when Bradley issues orders he wants obeyed without question. "What is he, Archaya?"

Archaya. He's heard that name before. Where? When?

"Human." She's at his side now, and she reaches out, holds her hand just over his heart. She's not quite touching him, but he can feel her power. It makes his pulse race, makes his stone quiver. "But that doesn't mean he's harmless."

"My scouts did find him in the Third Stratum. How should I accommodate him?"

"I'll take him." She places her hand on Kimberly's chest. For an instant, her tattoos flare the same red as her hair, and her power surges through him. He hisses, strains against his bonds, and then his stone gathers up all the excess energy. "Where are his clothes?"

"Bloodstained. I'm afraid they're not suitable for use. I'll have new ones provided."

"I'll take his old ones."

"Oh?"

"You said they were bloodstained." Her hand is still warm on Kimberly's chest.

"Blood is power?" Kimberly asks. His voice is stronger.

Archaya's lips quirk. It's not quite a smile, thought it is the most expressive he's seen her. She shifts and half-turns to face the man. "Do you have any questions before I take him?"

"None at the moment. I shall leave him in your expert care." He smiles at Kimberly -- and of course it doesn't reach his eyes -- and bows before withdrawing.

Archaya snorts. She looks down at Kimberly again. He meets her gaze squarely, fights the urge to flex his hands. He is no match for her, not while he's so weak. "What about you? Do you have any questions before I take you?"

He considers. "Where am I?" It's safe enough, predictable enough.

"At the moment, you are in a guest room in what used to be the northeast corner of Count Duphaston's manor."

Kimberly frowns. Archaya's lips quirk again. "Count Duphaston's manor is in his fair city of Isapolis, which used to be in the southwest region of Valdia."

"And now?"

"Now, it is in Besek, and Count Duphaston considers himself a lord." She begins working loose his bindings. "Your next question? Three is a powerful number."

"Nine more so. And I've already asked three."

The quirk of her lips lasts longer this time. An honest smile, Kimberly decides. She does not seem like an expressive woman. "I've only answered two."

"Are you sure you should be releasing me?"

She presses her hand over his navel. This time, her power is more aggressive. Kimberly bites back on his scream, fists his hands in the sheets. His palms itch, and he wants to lash out, but he still knows he's no match for her. And this feels like a test. Blood is power. She hasn't said, but she doesn't need to. He knows that. And whatever her power is -- her tattoos are flaring red again, and it reminds him of his stone, of Ishbal, of his own transmutations exploding before him, the blast heat sharp and dry on his cheeks -- she can use his blood to control him.

She finishes. Kimberly slumps back, panting. He's sweating, and his nerves are dancing, not quite sure if they should be signaling pain or pleasure. And his stone is singing. It feels stronger, and he wonders how she's feeding it. He'd love to cough it up and see if it's grown, but not in front of her.

Archaya touches the hollow of his throat. "You'll show me that later." She unbuckles the last cuff. "I'll see about your new clothes."

* * *

He can walk. His legs are shaky at first, but once he gets used to using them, he feels fine. More than fine, actually. Whatever Archaya did to him, it was more effective than the treatment he received after his battle with Scar on the train. He resists the temptation to reach out and touch her. The tattoos over the back of her neck and shoulders are a winged pattern. He's seen something similar in books on the history of alchemy. Some of the older practices, ones that died out, involved elaborate arrays based more on metaphorical symbology than scientific imagery.

"So where are you taking me?" he asks as the weave through the narrow streets.

He doesn't really expect an answer. Archaya hasn't offered to answer his next trio of questions. She doesn't stop or look back, but surprisingly, she answers. "The Traviata house."

Traviata? "The town where I grew was on the edge of the Traviata Forest."

"Is that so?" She doesn't sound surprised.

Archaya. The witch in the forest. Of course! That's how he knows her. She's a fairy tale. He laughs.

She glances back at him. Her face is expressionless, but Kimberly takes the acknowledgment as a sign of curiosity. "You're the witch mothers use to keep their kids in line. Be good. The witch from Traviata Forest rides in her Demon Cauldron looking for children to feed to it."

"Camellia preferred adults."

"Preferred?"

"Camellia found better food here." She stares at him for a beat. "Majin."

"What are they?"

"Natives of Besek." She turns and leads him past a pub, then around another corner. The sign above the door does say Traviata house, and there's an image of the Demon Cauldron burnt into the wood. It's just like the one in the illustrated fairy tale treasury his mother used to read to him.

She leads him in. The interior resembles a blacksmith's shop, though instead of an anvil and forge, the Demon Cauldron dominates the center of the room. And however it works, it produces a lot of heat. Kimberly's almost too warm, and he's always liked heat. There are cupboards built into the walls, floor to ceiling, and each door has an elaborate array carved into it.

Archaya turns to face him. She hefts the bag containing his bloodstained clothes as if she's weighing his worth. "What else do mothers say about the witch from Traviata Forest?"

Kimberly shrugs. He doesn't remember many of the stories. He only remembers Archaya because of his alchemy research. The magic she had worked -- at least the way it was described in his mother's book -- sounded more like alchemy. He remembers following the logic and rules of her rituals, though he doesn't remember specifics. But he does remember her magic was his first exposure to equivalent exchange, so in that respect, she was his first exposure to alchemy.

She sets the bag down and strides towards him. "Show me this." She touches the hollow of his throat again.

"Show me that." He nods at the Demon Cauldron.

She smiles, briefly. "After." She steps back and brings the fingers she had pressed against her throat to her lips. "The Koona who brought you back here said you smell like a heretic, but different." She licks the tips of her fingers. "I understand their confusion."

"Heretic must mean something different here than it does in my home."

"Here it means someone with Majin blood. Cross-breeding is more common than either side likes to believe."

"Oh?"

"Show me." She licks her lips. "Now."

He summons the stone. It responds easily enough, almost like it wants to perform for her. It slides together and settles on his tongue. He spits it into his palm, and yes, it has grown. And darkened. It's a deep garnet now, and it feels heavier.

Archaya inhales. Kimberly moves to her this time. There's little change to her expression, but he's noticed how her eyes darkened. They're the same red as his stone now, and that's interesting. Another snippet from his mother's stories comes to him. _The witch from Traviata is bathed in red. Her cloak, her dress, her scarlet armor are the blood of her foes, responding to her will to serve her as needed._

"Camellia has a sibling." She reaches out. The stone melts under her touch and pools in his palm, trembling.

"This was made in a laboratory. With alchemy." He raises his palm to his mouth and swallows the stone again. It spreads through him, warming him like a hit of whisky.

"By men, then."

"And from them."

She touches the hollow of his throat again. "I was once the only person who knew that secret. Then I shared it with another. Do mothers speak of that in their stories?"

"Mothers associate you with blood and vengeance. There's not much talk of companionship." He looks over her shoulder. "Beyond your cauldron."

"Camellia is a faithful companion."

"Show me." He smiles at her frown. "It's equivalent exchange."

* * *

The Majin she feeds Camellia look like chimera. Her selection looks like a fox. She even lets Kimberly touch it as she makes her preparations. It's bound to a cross, and Kimberly can't decide if the Majin or its binding is more interesting. The Majin whimpers under his touch. Female, definitely not a chimera, because there's no trace of a transmutation. The chimeras he's used to contain echoes of the transmutations used to create them.

The binding feels similar to his stone. Similar, but not the same, and he can't tease out the difference, not even when he concentrates. All he can do is make a best guess. It's less responsive than his stone, so he supposes it's made in a similar fashion, but perhaps from diluted material.

"Camellia is ready. Step away from her food." Archaya flashes him a quick smile. "Unless you'd like to join it."

"Not particularly, no." He steps back.

"A wise decision." She raises her arms. Her tattoos flare red again. The Majin rises, still bound to its cross, and drifts over to the cauldron. Kimberly moves closer to it. There's a series of four metallic snick.

"Camellia's mouth."

Kimberly glances over at Archaya. She gives him a quick one-shouldered shrug. "It's the closest match. You can touch. There's nothing you can do to harm Camellia."

"I haven't shown you what I can do."

"If you can harm Camellia, you are a god. But then the Koona wouldn't have found you bleeding to death out there."

He chuckles. "That would make me a very weak god."

"Do you want to watch Camellia feed, or do you want to keep challenging me?"

"I want to watch. What happens?"

"Camellia lets me extract skills or energy from the Majin. I'll bottle energy this time." The marking at the hollow of her throat flares. Archaya lowers her arms.

The Majin sinks into the cauldron. The cauldron's mouth snicks shut, but it doesn't muffle the Majin's scream as the cauldron's gears wind up. Kimberly presses his palms against the cauldron's surface. It shudders beneath him as the upper rings whirl around. The surface warms to the point where it almost burns him.

Archaya speaks over his shoulder. "Look down."

Below him, a trickle of pink liquid runs through grooves in the floor. The cauldron stutters to a stop. Kimberly watches the last trickle of liquid and follows it to a fountain. Archaya is right behind him, and then she brushes past him to bottle the liquid. His palms tingle.

"Let me touch your tattoos," he says before he can think about the wisdom of his request.

She straightens up. "Why?"

He forces his hands still. "They mean something."

"And you don't think I'll tell you if you ask?"

"I don't think I'll understand unless I touch."

She considers him for a moment, then turns to put the bottle away.

No, then. Kimberly shrugs. No matter. There's still the cauldron. It's cooled down now, but it still vibrates beneath him. His stone hums in response.

"Turn around."

Archaya's behind him again. Kimberly almost startles. Almost. Archaya isn't a homunculus, but she's as powerful as one, and even if she were a normal human, Kimberly would not let anything like shock or surprise or fear show. Why give someone the knowledge he's unsettled? It's power, and he'd rather keep that power to himself.

He turns. Archaya's unwrapped her skirt so she's standing before him in her sleeves, stockings, corset and matching crimson slip. Well. That's unexpected.

"Let me touch yours first." She steps closer, holds out her hands. "Your palms."

He offers them to her. Her skin smooth, her palms warm against the back of his hands. She studies his arrays, running her thumbs lightly over the lines. "You're an artist."

"I like to think so."

"You'll have to show me." She steps closer, guides his hands to her hips. "Once you understand my art."

He slides his hands up her sides. Her tattoos extend below her corset, down her sides, down her legs, over her entire body. He can feel her energy strumming through them. The ink's been infused with something -- the energy she's extracted from the Majin? The blood of her enemies? -- that calls to his stone.

She shudders beneath his hands. A low growl escapes from her throat, and she presses closer. Kimberly's always run a little hot thanks to his alchemy, but she's flame itself. Her power and lust rolls through him. Her tattoos glow red where he touches her.

She's got him pressed against the cauldron. It responds to them, the gears humming in response to her -- their -- power. Kimberly leans forward and licks at the tattoo curving over her breast. She fists a hand in his hair, so he follows the line between the valley of her breasts, reaches up to cup it through her corset. She tastes like the stone, coppery and sweet. He nips at her pale flesh, and that earns him another low growl. She tightens her grip on his hair and slides her other hand between them.

He's already hard for her. She makes short work of the ties of his pants -- good, because he'd spent too long figuring out how to lace the damn things -- and then it's his turn to make those low growls, because her hand is smooth and hot, her grip's firm, and all that's missing is the slick.

"Bite," she orders, pressing him more firmly to her breast.

He does. She moans and hooks a leg over his hip, wiggles into position, and ah, her cunt's wet and tight and hot and the best thing he's ever felt.

She braces both hands on his shoulders, and he gets both under her. He feels the power strumming through the lines of her tattoos, gathering at the small of her back. She's close to coming. It makes her tattoos flare nova-bright. Kimberly's blinded, and then he's coming, too, and for a moment, it feels like he's sandwiched between Archaya and Camellia. He understands why the cauldron has a name, understands the link Archaya shares with it -- Camellia's wolf heads are mirrored on Archaya's shoulders, stylized of course, and Camellia's other engravings snake down Archaya's arms. Camellia is a near-living array, like the stone in him is a near-living thing.

"Camellia approves of you." Archaya steps back, panting slightly. She's covered with a sheen of sweat, and it makes Kimberly remember the taste of her. "Maybe I should send you out in Besek with a librum."

A chance to use his alchemy here? To see how fit he is? Kimberly smiles.


End file.
